Time, Travels
by Melchy
Summary: A story for the 40th Anniversary. Carolyn's thoughts.


The characters from the Ghost and Mrs. Muir belong to 20th Century Fox and David Gerber Productions. I make no money off of them, but I do enjoy spending time with them.

Something for the 40th anniversary of this wonderful show.

Thanks to Mara for all her help and making sure it was readable. She's the best pal!

I remember my grandfather telling me that time passes by much too slowly when you are young and then double speeds when you are old. And to some extent this is very true.

But in reality, time has no taskmaster. It does what it wants and doesn't bother to check with anyone. As I wake up this morning, turn off the alarm, roll over one more time, let my head sink into the pillows, close my eyes and wonder what it might be like to just lie there (my son Jonathan wants to know why I feel I have to get up at all if I don't want to. I tell him I might miss something important), then throw back the covers and place my feet on the semi cold floor.

I reach for my robe, pull it close and head towards the French Doors, opening them to the smell of the nearby ocean and the feel of the breeze, the sound of sea gulls, and the cry of a heron. And as I stand here on my balcony, beside the ship's wheel that has stood steadily rain or shine, I suddenly realize that I have been doing this for a very long time.

The actual number of years escapes me, but I know that's been over half of my life. It's been so long, I find it hard to remember anything else. That is another thing about time, I've noticed, he dictates the memories he wants you to have. It really has nothing, well, not much anyway, to do with that fact that I'm heading toward my 72nd year.

I go back inside and as has happened for at least 35 years, my morning coffee arrives with a sunny smile and a hope of my good rest of the night before. I'm grateful for the mug he hands me (Candy found the most wonderful deep mugs in Connecticut, just perfect for someone who can drink five blue willow cups without breathing hard), take a sip and thank him. He beams at me and then asks if I require any breakfast, knowing that I will usually say no. He will then shake his head, say I don't eat enough to keep a bird alive and disappear from the room. I head towards the bathroom to finish my toilet and dress, knowing that he will have a plate of eggs and toast waiting for me when I do arrive down stairs. And as I have done for the last 35 years, I will eat, he joining me as we make our plans for the day.

He is the reason I have loved every single second of the time I've spent here. He is my constant friend and companion, advisor, guardian angel and the one I love. I have spent everyday of my life here wrapped in his love and protection, even when I was too stubborn to accept it. I can't imagine my life without him.

In case you don't know, which frankly you probably don't, Daniel Gregg is not an ordinary man. I know that all women say that about the men they love, but I really mean it. It's not just because he has been with me and my children through heartache and triumph, laughter and tears, failure and success, but because literally he is not a man in the truest sense. He is instead a spirit, a wandering soul, a remnant of the past or as my parapsychologist daughter tells me, a ghost.

After I had moved into my wonderful home, the landlord, unsuccessfully, I might add, tried to tell me that the house was haunted and he would find me another place. I shrugged off his words, confident in my 20th century education that taught me that ghosts did not exist. They were very prevalent in stories and movies and plays, but that is where they belonged. Not in the middle of Maine in 1968. I firmly dismissed his words as the chattering of a nervous and over dramatic man. (Which he was)

I don't think if I live to be 100 that I will ever forget my first night in this house. We had all cleaned like we never had before, marveling at the wood work and beautiful things, but wondering when the last time was the house had had a proper cleaning and were more than a little tired. The man I had hired to re-paint the living room walls, had been reluctant to take the job in the first place and it was only with a little arm twisting and the increase of his fee (imagine getting anything painted for 2.50 an hour now.) That he agreed. I saw him take off like a shot from my view in the upstairs bedroom about three hours later and all my frustration and foot stomping didn't bring him back.

I finally got the children to bed despite a huge storming brewing and was headed to bed myself, when I heard the windows knocking in the front room and thought I better take the time to shut them, as I didn't want to get any of the antiques wet and ruined. I didn't believe the ghost was there; let me tell you this again. But I thought if I talked to him it would help me keep my humor up and not let me think of things I'd rather not be thinking off, namely we had no electricity and I didn't know what to do about it. At home, I would have called the electric company or someone would say, "_Have you checked the fuses_?"

I had no idea where the fuses were or what to do with them if I had, but at that I moment I would have liked to hear someone ask the question. I still hadn't gotten used to the idea of being alone at times and this was one of them. I had lost my husband of seven years the year before and I still at times expected him to be there when I needed him, which was for almost every aspect of my life. So, gritting my teeth and trying not to give in to my bad mood and sudden rush of memories, I told the "ghost" that if he was going to challenge me the least he could do was to show himself. Imagine my surprise when he did! I told him that night that we all couldn't live there as one big happy family. I'm very happy to say, 40 years on, I was quite wrong about that.

After establishing the ground rules with the Captain, I attempted to pursue a normal life. The children were enrolled in school, Martha joined the sewing circle at church and I started to write until I thought my brains would fall out.

I was fortunate enough to have the world's best housekeeper, Martha Grant, come with me. I felt guilty every time I realized just how much she hated it here, at least in the beginning, but yet she stayed. She said it was because my lack of cooking skills, (and believe me she tried to teach me), would mean we would all starve to death. But I suspected that beneath it all, it was because she loved us. She stayed with us in the house for 5 years before marrying Ed Peavy, a local handyman and opening a catering business/bakery. I'm afraid for the next few years most of our meals were either eaten there or she brought them up for us. I am proud to say that despite my lack of cuisine ability, Jonathan is an excellent cook and does all most all of it in his family. We tease his wife often that if they get divorced she should make sure the judge gives her cooking privileges so he still has to make her dinner!

I love my life and how it's gone so far. I sometimes marvel at just how nice things have turned out. Despite my resolutions, I did fall in love with Captain Daniel Gregg and decided I would be perfectly content to live my life here with him. He was insistent I find someone of my own variety--"because I love you too much for you to be alone." (Later he denied saying that!) And I did date a few men.

The only one that I considered marrying was Luke Bishop, who owns the bookstore in Schooner Bay but we both sat down one night over dinner, about 30 years ago, and decided that weren't made for one another. "As much as I hate to say it, the ghost wins this round." Luke told me gently and I agreed. Luke and I are still pals and he and Daniel get along well. I often come home and find them playing chess or Whist or looking over the Captain's never ending sea charts. It wasn't long after Luke and I came to our decision that Denise Jamison moved into town. Denise was from Boston, and was looking for a new start after being unceremoniously dumped by her fiancé on their wedding day. The two of us connected immediately and we became best friends. Along with Lucy Helmore, a fellow mother and PTAer we did everything together and it was nice to have girlfriends close by again. Eventually Denise and Luke married and have been for the last 25 years. Their oldest, Sophie, graduated from Harvard this last May. Time certainly does fly.

All three of them know about Daniel and he of them. After five years of avoiding questions and why did my mother hear stories of a man living in my house, we decided to tell everyone the truth. I called everyone that meant something to me, friends, a few relatives, Luke, (although I had told him earlier, when we were dating), Lucy and Martin, and Denise and as gently as possible told them about Daniel, how special he was to me and that he was a ghost. I did think my father might have gone into cardiac arrest if it hadn't been for my mother who reminded him that as a spirit, Daniel could be anywhere at anytime and therefore I would always be protected and care for. That's not exactly true, but it did make my father feel better.) Daddy and Daniel became great pals and when my father died 15 years ago, Daniel was a pallbearer.

It has been much harder in our everyday life however. Daniel was Daniel and I didn't want him having to hide behind disguises just so he could attend Jonathan's track meets or Candy's baseball games. (He wasn't really thrilled with the idea either). But you couldn't just stroll into town with him and say 'hey everybody you were right, Gull Cottage is haunted and here's the ghost to prove it!" In the beginning he would attend most family events being seen only by us. While it was inconvenient when it came to talking to him. (I swear half the town thinks I'm certifiably insane, and that was before the senior moments), we got used to it. Even Luke and Denise and Lucy and Martin became used to our invisible comrade and while we didn't like it, we lived with it.

It was after the collection of Daniel's letters was published that we sat up one night and talked our relationship over. My family had lived in the house for almost seven years at the time and Daniel and I had not only declared our love for each other but found we could prove it in many ways. We were as Martha called us, closer than a marriage could bring us and since that was so, we didn't like that he couldn't attend functions with us. Especially since the children were getting older and were involved in more things.

Lucy was the one to suggest we pass Daniel off as his own relative and although it hurt his pride at first to think that he might have had a child he didn't know of to make this possible, he decided that we were worth a small bit of self-embarrassment. Carefully we planned our story, even getting Claymore in on the deal. We told everyone that Daniel Gregg was an ancestor of the dear Captain that we had been writing for a few years, after he contacted me about the house and he had finally finished his work overseas and had decided to come see the place of his famous ancestor. There was even an explanation about why Claymore inherited instead of him, but for the life of me I can't remember what it is. I don't think anyone cares anymore.

After breakfast we wash the few dishes and then decide what we should do for the day. I'm usually in the middle of a book or two but today I have nothing pressing. My latest book, a child's picture book--_When I_ _Grow Up I Want to be a Pirate_ has just been sent off to the publisher and should be out next month. I'm very pleased with the _When I Grow Up_ series as it's well done and I've become quite popular with little children, particularly my grandchildren. Most of the series is based on stories my father and grandfather told me about their life when I was a child or from Daniel and his ghostly best mate Brendan Darcy. (I have to admit, I was surprised to find out Daniel had friends, but of course he would. I mean that he had friends still. I think I better shut up while I'm still ahead) Lucy Helmore illustrates them and they are beautiful books. I have copies of _When I Grow Up I Want to be a Banker_ and _I Want to be a Ballerina_ (obviously that one didn't come from the aforementioned sources) ready to give to my new grandchild, (she was a big surprise), when Jonathan and Jessica come up this weekend. I can't wait to get my hands on that baby, or my other two sweet granddaughters. It is true what they say grandchildren are a reward.

My children are my life and I love them more than I thought I could love someone. My daughter is exactly like her father, sweet, a bit indecisive, athletic, intelligent and witty with a gentleness and compassion for all creatures. She played on the boy's softball team in Jr. high, a huge accomplishment at the time, made straight A's, was drum majorette for three years of high school, worked part time at Martha's Deli and volunteered at the nearby animal shelter. Winning a full scholarship to my Alma Mater she majored in Psychology, concentrating in parapsychology, studied paranormal phenomenon in Ireland for two years, wrote a book and then fell in love.

Jeff is the perfect man for my little girl. 15 years older than she is, he understands her to a point that is frightening. He's a doctor and she's currently teaching classes on Supernatural Phenomena at Yale University. They divide their time between their house in Hartford and beach house on Martha's Vineyard, where Jeff's parents retired to. They have given me three lovely grandchildren--Danielle, Brad and Lily. I'm very excited that Lily will be coming to stay with us for a month this fall. I have strict instructions not to spoil the charming 4 year old. with a shock of red curls and her mother's laugh. But I'm not making any promises!

Jonathan was top of his class at the Naval Academy, then served in the Navy for three years on Submarine duty. Then he took a job as a reporter for the Washington Post. He met Jessica, a beautiful American girl while stationed at the news post in London. She had a daughter from a previous relationship and I still remember the first time he called me telling me how much he cared for her and that he knew she was the one and would the Captain and I care about him raising another man's child? Daniel took the phone and I swear that there were tears in his eyes when he told Jonathan in a quivering voice that one of the most important things he had ever done was to help raise a boy and girl that had belonged to another man first. "I would not deny you that privilege."

Emma is a delightful child and I swear she looks like Jonathan even though I know it's impossible. Jessica was pregnant when she and Jonathan met and he was the one that helped with the delivery and cut the cord on the 8 pound 5 oz baby girl. It's hard to believe she will be turning 21 next month. Since their marriage they have been blessed with Grace Elizabeth, a shy and quiet teenager and Charlotte Caroline who joined them just two weeks ago. They live in Baltimore where Jonathan runs a company that restores old sailing ships and Jessica is the assistant for the Governor of the state. We see them about four times a year, either them coming or us going there.

My mother is alive and well and in better shape then I am. She is 95 and lives in Florida with her sister Margaret. Daniel and I go see them every summer and I hold on to every minute I still have with her.

Claymore left us about five years ago, dying a very happy man. He had saved so much money that after awhile even he decided he shouldn't be so stingy and he moved to Bermuda where he lived out his life in a small beach house, fishing and walking and writing a screen play about his life with his "uncle." I'm just very sorry he wouldn't see the finished work; it's due to hit theaters in October and looks very funny from the previews. Of course the names have been changed and it's touted as a fantasy, but it's still quite the tale.

My companion and I move out to the porch and he reads while I get caught up on the news on my laptop. I hated technology at first, I was I'll admit afraid of it, but Daniel fell so in love with it, I had to try it. I'm now the proud owner of a laptop, a cell phone and an Ipod. And I'm trying to learn to use them!

The porch is my favorite place at Gull Cottage except for the Master bedroom. We built it on the back of the house in the late 70's and it quickly became the place to go for resting, reflection and family gatherings. It's huge, almost like a deck but not off the ground and it has a roof. A glider sits in the middle along with two rocking chairs a picnic table and benches and a beanbag chairs for the grandchildren. We have fairy lights strung along the top and it's so peaceful to sit out and night and listen to the gulls and the roar of the ocean and feel content with the world.

My phone rings and I pull it out of my sweater pocket, happy to see it's my daughter. "Happy 40th anniversary Mom." she sings into my ear. "Can you believe it's been that long since we moved to Gull Cottage?"

40 years? I get up and walk through the kitchen, remembering how it looked that first day so long ago. I was so afraid that Martha would turn tail and run right there and I was determined to keep my spirits up. I go into the foyer, the woolly is still on the wall and the table still sits against the steps, a cordless phone having replaced the relic. I see my children for a moment, Candy in that hat she hated so much, Jonathan dressed up and wishing he could get into his jeans. How small they were!

I think of my friend Martha who left us 10 years ago and how I wish she were here with us now and my eyes cloud over and I can't speak for a moment. Later, I need to walk down to where she and Ed lay side by side, together for always now.

I open the door to the front room and even after all this time, I have to catch my breath when I look at the portrait on the wall. "No, honey, I can't. I just really can't. It seems like only yesterday.


End file.
